


Babysitting Clint Barton

by SailorChibi



Series: Babysitting Tony [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Adult baby, Age Play, Baby!Tony, Baby-sitting, Bathing, Big Brother Clint, Clint Barton Need a Hug, Cuddling, Daddy!Steve, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Infantilism, M/M, More comfort than hurt, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Phil Coulson, Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Clint Barton, Sick Fic, Sick Tony Stark, Teddy Bears, Thumb-sucking, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Uncle Phil, Vulnerability issues, Wetting, bottles, but only tony, clint barton has daddy issues, clint is about four years old, consensual age play, daddy!Phil, little!Clint, non sexual infantilism, peeing your pants, pull-ups, stuffed animals, tis the season for colds, uncle steve, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint came to terms with his daddy occasionally babysitting Tony a long time ago; sometimes it was even fun. What's a lot less fun was admitting that he might need a babysitter when his daddy's away too.</p><p>It helped a bit that Tony was feeling just as sick and little, even if he refused to admit it until he wet his pants while sneezing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this up one night last week when I was suffering from a very bad cold that knocked me on my ass. Unfortunately, I didn't have a Steve Rogers to nurse me through it.

It was just past three in the morning when the vent in the living room rattled, then slowly lifted away from the wall. The apartment was quiet, and no one was awake to see him approach the bed and the two people who were both sound asleep. Tony was sprawled on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow at an angle that had to make it hard to breathe, while Steve was flat on his back. Fortunately for the sake of young eyes, the covers were pulled up to both of their waists.

“Uncle Steve?” Clint whispered, bending over the bed. He stifled a cough, holding his breath and biting his lip until the urge to keep coughing had passed.

There was no response. Clint studied them both for a moment longer, jerking a little when Tony snorted and shifted around. But he settled again without ever really waking up, and Clint quietly exhaled and started to back away. It had been a mistake to come here. He’d fought against the urge all last night and all day today, and it wasn’t until he started coughing to the point where he could hardly breathe that he’d given in and sought them out. That had been a mistake on his part.

He wasn’t watching where he was going in an unfamiliar room, and he stumbled over a pair of shoes that had to be Tony’s. He didn’t fall, but just the sound of the shoes shuffling against the floor was enough to wake Steve. He snapped upright, looking around the room, and Clint flinched and darted a quick glance at the door. It suddenly seemed so much further away, and he’d never hated the large rooms of the tower more than he did right then. There was no way he’d make it.

“Clint?” Steve said at almost the same time, sounding a little confused. “What’s going on?”

“I – nothing.”

Steve squinted at him. “It must be something. Are you okay?”

Clint chewed on his bottom lip and said nothing, wishing more than ever that he’d just stayed in his room. Steve and Tony were tired after a long day – they all were – and didn’t need to be disturbed. He shook his head in silent apology and took another two or three cautious steps backwards. The door was almost within reach when he felt it; the tightening of his chest and the sudden explosion of coughing that bent him double. 

By the time the coughing stopped, Steve was beside him. A big arm was wrapped around his waist, steadying him, while a gentle hand rubbed up and down his back in a steady pattern. “Easy, buddy, there you go,” Steve said softly. “It’s okay, just let it happen.”

“My chest hurts,” Clint croaked, wincing at the effort it took to talk. His throat stung every time he tried to swallow, like there was a big piece of glass jabbing him from the inside.

“I think that cold you’ve been dodging has finally caught up with you,” Steve replied, setting the back of his hand against Clint’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm, but I bet you miss your daddy something awful.”

The tears that Clint had been fighting back all week – ever since Phil had pulled him aside and told him that he and Natasha were being sent on an op, but that Clint couldn’t go because there wasn't enough room – welled up and finally spilled over. Mortified, he ducked his head and tried to pull away, but Steve was having none of it. He scooped Clint up with ease and carried him over to the bed, setting him down beside Tony.

“Tony, wake up,” he ordered, giving Tony’s shoulder a shake.

Bleary brown eyes opened slowly. Tony blinked a couple of times. “Steve?” he mumbled, then pushed himself up and stared at Clint. For someone who had drool on his face, he got what was going on a lot faster than Steve had. “Oh, hey, kiddo.”

“Stay awake and watch Clint while I go get some medicine,” Steve said, already walking towards the door. Clint looked after him beseechingly, wishing that he’d stay. He wasn’t exactly used to Steve when he feeling little, but he’d never been around Tony like this when Tony was still big. It had been the other way around a couple of times, sure, but not like this, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Mmm, staying awake is a tall order,” Tony said through a yawn, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Clint’s shoulders. He flopped back down, pulling Clint with him, and started absentmindedly combing his fingers through Clint’s hair. It felt… really nice, actually, soothing away the tension that had been building in his forehead. Clint closed his eyes, letting his head rest on Tony’s shoulder. 

He dozed for a couple minutes, too uncomfortable to really fall asleep, and woke up to the sound of Steve coming back with a couple of gel pills meant especially for colds. Normally Clint tried not to take medication, but the stern look on Steve’s face told him that saying no wasn’t an option. So he took the dumb pills and then settled back down beside Tony, who kept stroking his hair even though Clint hadn’t asked him to. Steve got back in bed too, on Clint’s other side, and even though there were three of them it wasn’t a tight fit, just comfortable.

He fell asleep to the thump of Tony’s heart in his ear, just barely audible over a hushed conversation between Tony and Steve, but it wasn’t the most restful night’s sleep he’d ever had. Definitely not the worst – nothing could compare to the handful of nights he’d spent in Budapest – but he kept waking up to cough. The last time he woke up, the sun was shining through the windows and only Tony was beside him. He was sitting up, working on a tablet, but he looked at Clint as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Feeling any better?” Tony asked.

“Not really,” Clint said hoarsely, wincing again. His voice was all raspy and didn’t even really sound like him. He swallowed and coughed a little.

“Here.” Tony gave him a mug, holding it to help him sip. It was tea flavored with what tasted like honey and lemon, and it made swallowing a lot easier. Clint drank about half of it, savoring the temporary ease while it lasted, before he turned his head away.

“Where’s Uncle Steve?” he asked.

“Making breakfast. He thought oatmeal with honey might go over better than anything else.” Tony grinned when Clint made a face. “Hey, I said the same thing, but Steve says you have to eat.”

“Don’t wanna,” Clint grumbled, kicking at the blankets until they came free. He was hot and sticky, and he sighed as his feet were exposed to the cooler air of the bedroom. His head was hurting again. He pulled the pillow over his eyes.

“Sadly, I don’t think it’s optional,” Tony replied. “You have Steve’s mother hen instincts cranked up to full gear.”

“Shoulda stayed in my room.”

“So you could suffer on your own? And then Uncle Phil could kill us both?”

Clint peeked at him. Tony didn’t seem to realize what he’d called Phil, or if he did he wasn’t reacting. “What if I make you sick?”

“Been sick before, kiddo, and I’m sure I’ll be sick again. It’s hardly the end of the world. Besides, we can just blame it all on Bruce. It’s technically his fault.” Tony sighed, rolling his shoulders and reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “I spent so much time in his lab before he got sick that I’ve probably already been contaminated.” He sneezed then, as though to underscore the point, and scowled.

“Uncle Steve’s gonna make you stay in bed, too,” Clint said.

“ _I’m_ not the one who’s sick here,” said Tony, pushing the covers back. “Come on. If you don’t want to stay in bed, then it’s better to get up now. He’s less likely to send you back to bed, but if he catches you still in bed he'll make you stay here.” It sounded an awful lot like a change of subject, a way to distract him from Tony being sick, but Clint decided to let it go. If Tony had the same cold that Clint did, he wouldn’t be able to hide it for long.

He sat up, swaying a little from the head rush, and swung his legs off the bed. Tony pulled a t-shirt on to go with his boxers and then helped him to stand up, and Clint leaned against him as they walked slowly to the bedroom door. His nose was too stuffed up for him to be able to smell anything, but Steve was standing at the stove when they got to the kitchen. He was stirring a pot, but it didn’t stop him from glancing up with a disapproving look already in place.

“You should be in bed.”

“Aw, come on, bed is _boring_ ,” Tony whined, and it sounded like he was the four-year-old in distress, not Clint. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine. But as soon as you eat – and both of you have to eat, Tony – Clint is going straight to the sofa to rest.”

“Fine by me,” Tony said, winking at Clint, and pulled out a seat for the two of them. Clint smiled back and sat down, discovering that two glasses of orange juice had already been poured and set out for them, along with two more cold pills at Clint’s plate. Evidently Tony wasn’t as sneaky as he wanted to think that he was. He picked up the glass and took a couple of smaller sips to test his throat. It didn’t hurt _too_ bad, so he took the pills.

Tony took a deep breath and drained his glass of orange juice non-stop, then put the glass down and made a beeline for the coffee pot. He poured himself a cup of coffee, drank that down in a couple of deep gulps even though it had to be too hot, and then sat down cradling a second cup like someone might try to steal it. His eyes, which had looked a little glassy before, were more focused, enough so that he was able to savor this cup. Steve just shook his head and served them all up a bowl of oatmeal flavored with honey and cinnamon.

Normally Clint wasn’t a big fan of oatmeal, but it was hot and soft and felt good going down. He was surprised to discover that after the first couple mouthfuls hit his belly, he was hungry after all. He ate about half the bowl and drank another glass of orange juice. It helped that he had entertainment in the form of Tony pouting because Steve made him drink a glass of water before he had his third cup of coffee. Apparently the whole ‘coffee counts as hydration’ argument hadn’t made as much headway as Tony wanted it to.

“Are you full, Clint?” Steve asked him.

“Um, yeah,” Clint said, pushing his bowl away. He didn’t like leaving food behind, but his stomach was warning him that if he ate anymore he was going to be sorry. And he hated throwing up even more than not finishing what was on his plate. “Can I go watch cartoons?”

“Sure, buddy. I’m going to clean up the dishes and then I’ll be right in.”

Clint nodded and went into the living room. Tony had an awesome television in every room of the house. He didn’t think he’d ever get over being able to watch _Phineas & Ferb_ on a 100" television if he wanted to – and better yet, JARVIS could call up pretty much any show at any time. He sat down on the couch, then sort of slumped over sideways until his head was on a cushion, watching contentedly as JARVIS automatically called up a new episode. The screen burst into colors. He’d watched all of one episode and most of another before it became too hard to keep his heavy eyes open, and he drifted off. 

Steve woke him up later. Clint blinked up at him, feeling fuzzy and disoriented. There was a blanket tucked around his shoulders, and Steve must have been down to Clint's and Phil's floor because his favorite stuffed puppy was pressed up against his side. The room was dark, and the sound of the television had been lowered to a dull murmur. He rubbed his eyes, wishing that his daddy was here. His uncle was nice, but it just wasn’t the same.

“What’s goin’ on?” he mumbled, coughing a little.

“Sorry to wake you,” Steve said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But Bruce is sending some special tea up for you that’s supposed to help with colds, and he said you should drink it hot.”

“Bruce knows I’m sick?”

“ _Just_ that you’re sick,” Steve said gently, patting his shoulder. “Same thing he had, remember? Tony told him. You don’t have to see him. Tony’s going to bring it up for you.”

“Leavin’ his workshop and everything. Sure I’m not dying?” Clint asked. It was meant to be a joke, but he could tell from the look on Steve’s face that most of what he’d said hadn’t been audible. His throat was so raw that his voice kept breaking, and fragments of his sentences never actually made it out. He shook his head, rubbing his neck now, wishing he could just temporarily remove his throat when he started coughing again.

“Do you need to pee?” Steve asked him when the coughing fit was over, and Clint blushed a little because he suddenly realized that he had to pee really bad – bad enough that another bout of coughing would likely result in a wet couch. He usually wore pull-ups when he felt little, even though he was pretty good about making it to the bathroom, but there had been once or twice when he was really sick or injured that he wasn’t so good about it.

He sat up slowly and winced at the renewed pressure from his bladder. It was a good thing Steve had woke him up, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he would’ve made it. Steve helped him to stand and sent him off to the bathroom, but not before asking if needed help. Blushing even harder, Clint shook his head and silently fled. He shut the bathroom behind him and peed, sighing in relief. At least there was one thing he could do to ease the aches in his body.

There was a knock at the door. “Clint? I’m leaving a pull-up here for you. I’d like you to put it on under your pajamas, okay?”

“Don’t need one,” Clint muttered to himself, knowing Steve wouldn’t be able to hear it. He washed his hands and then opened the door a crack, spotting the pull-up on the floor. It was embarrassing to have Steve bring it to him, though it shouldn’t have been. Tony wore diapers and was regularly changed by Steve, and sometimes even Phil, and this wasn’t as bad as that.

He took his pajama bottoms and boxers off and stepped into the pull-up. It crinkled as he pulled it up around his hips, settling snugly into place. Phil had purchased them online from a special store, so it was patterned with little bows and arrows. Much as Clint didn't want to admit it, having it on made him feel better. More comfortable. And at least now he knew for sure he wouldn't do something stupid like take cold pills, fall asleep and then risk peeing himself.

After putting his pajama bottoms back on, he left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. Tony and Steve were already there. A cup of steaming tea was sitting on the table, but it looked nothing like the tea Clint had drunk earlier. He sat down and made a show of sniffing at the contents cautiously, making a face. It definitely didn't _look_ that good, and the smell was worse close up, bad enough that he could smell it even with a blocked up nose. He looked up at Tony accusingly.

"Don't look at me. Bruce made it, not me," said Tony. He had grease smeared across his t-shirt, up and down his arms, along his neck, and along his jaw on the right side. "But he claims that it will help, and he's the doctor."

"It looks gross," Clint whined between coughs.

"Just try it," Steve said. "Maybe it won't be that bad."

Both Clint and Tony shot him a disbelieving look, but Clint obediently picked up the mug and took a sip. He screwed his face up and spit it back out immediately. It was disgusting.

"No way," he said firmly, not caring that speaking louder made his throat burn. 

Steve sighed. "Clint, it's good for you."

"I don't care. It's gross and I'm not drinking it."

"Clint -"

"I don't want to and you can't make me!" Clint yelled, feeling tears well up in his eyes. "I want my daddy. He wouldn't make me drink this!"

He started to jump up, planning to beat a hasty retreat into the vents, but illness and fatigue made him slow. Steve grabbed his arm, holding just tight enough to keep Clint from being able to get free, and gently pushed him back in the seat. Then he crouched down so that the two of them were on the same level.

"You know that's not true, buddy," he said softly. "I'm sorry your daddy's not here when you're not feeling well. I called him this morning and he said he'd come home as soon as possible. In the meantime I'm the best you've got, and you and I both know that your daddy would want you to drink that tea. Bruce says it will make you feel better, and he's usually right about this kinda stuff."

Clint blinked hard, but two big, fat tears still rolled down his face. He hadn't known that Steve had called Phil. He sniffed hard and coughed again.

"How about this? If you drink the tea, I'll make you a milkshake," Steve offered. 

"A milkshake?" Clint echoed.

Steve nodded. "My ma used to do that for me when I wasn't feeling good. She said medicine always went down better when it came with a reward."

"Can it be a strawberry milkshake?"

"Whatever you want," Steve said, smiling. "But you gotta drink the tea first."

Clint looked at him, then at Tony, then at the cup. It still smelled horrible. But the thought of a milkshake was very tempting. He picked up at the cup again, hesitating, then slowly brought it to his lips. He wrinkled his nose as he drank some, trying not to taste it, wishing he could just breathe through his nose and gulp it all down at once - except he couldn't, because his nose was too stuffed up. He coughed again.

"Good job bribing the kid. That’s a great supper," Tony said, sounding amused as Steve walked over to the refrigerator.

"I'll remember that you disapprove of my methods the next time you feel little," Steve said dryly.

"I didn't say -" Tony cut himself off abruptly as he sneezed again. And again. And again. Each sneeze got progressively louder and more forceful, and he curled inwards convulsively, folding his hands over his mouth and jerking with every sneeze.

"Tony, are you okay?" Steve asked, stepping towards him.

"I'm fine," Tony gasped, turning away, sniffing loudly and groping for a paper towel. "I -" Again, he cut himself off at an explosion of sneezes. Except this time he did something weird, around the third sneeze he doubled over like he'd been hit, and Clint wasn't sure why until he saw the wet spot growing on Tony's jeans. He lowered the mug and stared.

By the time it stopped, Tony was panting and there was a small puddle of urine around his feet. Though he was still bent over, he didn't seem to realize what had happened at first. His eyes were all watery and red and his nose was running. It only dawned on him when he went to brace his hands on his thighs and felt the damp fabric of his jeans. He straightened up, eyebrows drawing together in momentary confusion, and then a dull red flush swept across his cheekbones and up his neck that had nothing to do with illness.

"Clint, finish your tea. I'll make you a milkshake when I come back," Steve said, immediately stepping forward and wrapping an arm around Tony's waist, both to give him support and to prevent him from bolting for the workshop. He steered Tony towards their bedroom.

The tea was marginally less awful when it was lukewarm than when it was hot. Clint was content to sip at it between coughs, finding that it really did ease the pain in his throat even better than the tea he'd had earlier that morning, and listen to the distant murmur of voices coming from the bedroom. His ears were a little blocked, so he couldn't make out most of it without getting up and moving closer, which Steve would undoubtedly notice right now and which would only serve to veto his milkshake karma. 

But after the first minute or two, he clearly heard Steve say, "Tony, do you want a diaper or not?" And then there was a long period of silence, followed by Tony's voice speaking in tones too low to be made out, and then Steve repeated his question even more firmly than before. Then there was even more silence. Clint smiled to himself and kept drinking the tea until it was all gone except for the icky tea leaves at the bottom of the mug.


	2. Chapter 2

It took about fifteen minutes for Steve to come back to the kitchen. He was alone, but he smiled broadly at Clint when he saw the empty mug. "Good job! I know that was hard to do, so thank you for drinking the tea."

"It was nothing," Clint said, shrugging. "Can I have my milkshake now?"

"Absolutely. One strawberry milkshake, coming right up."

Clint glanced back at the door a couple more times while Steve dug out the blender, but Tony didn't come out. Finally, he said, "Uncle Steve, is Tony okay?"

"He's sick just like you are," said Steve. "But he's being stubborn about it."

"I didn't meant to make him sick," Clint said, nibbling at the nail on his thumb. He kind of wanted to suck his thumb. But that was a really babyish thing to do. He coughed again.

"It's not your fault, Clint. There's just a bad cold going around. Tony would've gotten sick anyway." Steve set the blender on the counter and assembled the ingredients: strawberries, ice cream, ice, milk, sugar and, to Clint's delight, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

"Is he angry?"

"No. He's sulking on the bed. I told him he wasn't allowed to go back down to the workshop."

"How come? If he doesn't want to be little right now..."

Steve sighed and gave him a strained smile. "It's not that Tony doesn't want to be little, Clint. Sometimes, when Tony needs it the most, he feels like he shouldn't be little because he thinks it's a burden even though it's not." He started cutting up strawberries. "Besides, even putting that aside, the workshop is too dangerous for someone who isn't in their right mind. If he started sneezing or coughing while he was holding his welder, he could really hurt himself. And I know Tony, he'd tell himself he could hold it back until he was done." He sounded both fond and exasperated.

That did sound like Tony. Clint thought about it while Steve finished with the strawberries and put them in the blender, then scooped out some ice cream. He could kinda see where Tony was coming from. Being little was hard sometimes when you just wanted to be big. You felt like you were weird and wrong, because the rest of the world didn't need to be little, so you should be able to overcome it too. He'd never realized that there were times when Tony felt that way too.

Because there were definitely times when Clint felt like that, especially when he saw the new lines of stress in his daddy's face. No matter how many times that Phil told him he loved being a daddy, it was hard to believe it and it always made Clint feel a little selfish. Just like it made him feel really selfish to come into Steve's and Tony's bedroom when he didn't feel well. He slipped his thumb into his mouth and started to suck.

After adding the ice, milk and sugar, Steve put the top on and switched the blender on. In about two minutes, the ingredients had churned together into a thick, frothy pink mixture that he poured into a tall glass. He added a couple dollops of whipped cream, sprinkled on some of the chocolate sprinkles, and even dug a bottle of cherries out of the refrigerator to add a single cherry on top. He set the glass in front of Clint and plopped a straw in, along with two more cold pills.

"Thanks," Clint said softly around his thumb. "Uncle Steve?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I think you should go check on Tony."

"You do, do you?" Steve said, setting the blender in the sink.

Clint nodded. "Daddy says that babies shouldn't be left alone. Though he always gets mad at me when Tony's sleeping and I try to make sure he's okay..."

"Are you making sure he's okay or waking him up to play?" Steve asked, looking amused.

"... Both?"

He chuckled. "Will you be okay to drink your milkshake while I go check on Tony?"

" _I'm_ not a baby," Clint said, just in case Steve had gotten the message mixed up, pulling his thumb out of his mouth.

Steve seemed to find that funny. He was grinning, and he tousled Clint's hair on the way to the bedroom. He left the door open this time, but Clint wasn't interested in watching Tony get changed again. He carefully picked up his milkshake and the pills and made his way into the living room, because Steve hadn't said that he needed to stay at the counter to drink it. He sat down on the couch and wrapped his lips around the straw, taking a big, satisfying slurp since his daddy wasn't around to frown at him. 

That, he decided happily, was _much_ better than that rotten tea. It was hard to drink at first because he kept coughing, but that didn’t stop him and soon the cold pills kicked in and that helped. Besides, the iciness of the milkshake felt good on his throat. He leaned against the back of the couch, tucking his feet under the blanket, and without even asking JARVIS turned up the volume on his cartoons. If it weren’t for a cold and his daddy not being around, it would’ve been a perfect way to spend the afternoon.

His milkshake was half gone when the phone rang. Clint jumped and picked it up automatically. “Hello?” he said, before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to answer the phone when he was little. Especially not someone else’s phone. 

“Clint?”

“Daddy!” Clint squeaked joyfully, lighting up. “Daddy, I’m really sick.”

“I know. Steve told me. My poor little bird.”

“My head hurts,” Clint said, setting aside the milkshake. “And my throat hurts, and I keep coughing.”

“It sounds like you have a really bad cold,” Phil said sympathetically, and just the sound of his voice made Clint feel a lot better. He closed his eyes, because that meant he could imagine Phil was in the room with him.

“Are you coming home soon, Daddy?” he asked.

“I hope so. I had a long talk with some of my agents today and made it clear that I wasn’t happy with the way things are progressing,” Phil replied. “It helped that Tasha was standing beside me with a knife in her hand the whole time.”

Clint giggled. “Tasha’s funny. Did she scare them?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Clint said, satisfied. “Did anyone pee themselves?”

“Not this time.”

“Tony peed himself.”

There was a pause. Then Phil said, sounding a little more concerned, “He did?”

“He’s sick too,” Clint announced, because even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone this, his daddy was Tony’s uncle so that made it okay. “Uncle Steve is in the bedroom with him. Tony has to wear a diaper, but I’m being a big boy and going potty by myself.”

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Phil said. “For not only that, but for going to Steve in the first place.”

Clint looked down at his knees. “I didn’t want to,” he confessed. “I should be okay by myself.”

“Clint, we’ve talked about this. There’s nothing wrong with reaching out to your family for help. That’s what your uncle is for. You don’t think that Tony should be okay by himself when his daddy isn’t there, do you?”

That was cheating. Clint squirmed a little. “Tony’s a baby. I’m a big boy.”

Phil sighed. “I know you are, honey, but sometimes even big boys like you need help.”

“Maybe,” Clint said, unconvinced, and turned his head when he heard footsteps behind him. He wasn’t surprised to see that Steve was carrying Tony, who was dressed very simply in a diaper and a short-sleeved bodysuit that had snaps at the crotch. Tony had his arms around Steve’s neck and his face hidden in Steve’s shoulder.

Steve stopped short when he saw Clint on the phone. “Who are you talking to?”

“It’s Daddy,” Clint said.

“Let me talk to him, okay?” Phil said. “Be good. I won’t be much longer. I love you.”

“Okay. I love you too. Come home soon, Daddy,” Clint said into the phone. Then he held it out to Steve. “He wants to talk to you.”

After shifting Tony’s weight to his left arm, Steve took the phone with his free hand. “Finish your milkshake before it melts,” he said, then put the phone to his ear. “Hey Phil.”

Obediently, because melted milkshakes weren’t as much fun as the real thing, Clint picked up his milkshake and started to drink the rest of it. Little tidbits of Steve’s conversation drifted in and out of his awareness, but he was getting tired again. He never slept well when Phil was gone, not even when he was big. If Natasha was around that helped, but only to a certain point, and this time she was gone too so he’d been on his own. He closed his eyes again, still drinking.

At some point someone plucked the milkshake out of his limp hands and gently urged him to lay down. Clint did, but quickly realized it was hard to get comfortable. Lying down made it hard to breathe; it felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest, and it was giving him a headache. He’d been a lot more comfortable sitting up. He opened his eyes, tired and disgruntled, and sat up to look around the darkened room.

For a split second he tensed at the realization that someone was sitting in the chair beside the couch, but he relaxed as soon as he registered that it was Steve. Well, Steve and Tony. Steve was sitting on the chair with Tony on his lap. Tony was curled up, head cushioned against Steve’s chest. His eyes were shut, though he didn’t have a pacifier the way he usually did when he slept, and Clint figured that Tony was having just as much trouble breathing as he was. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered, glancing at him. “What’s wrong?”

“My head hurts,” Clint said again.

Steve shifted Tony to his right side. Tony fussed a little, face screwing up like he might start crying, but just as quickly he calmed down again after pushing his thumb into his mouth and hiding his eyes against Steve’s shoulder. Steve waited until he was settled and then held a hand out to Clint. 

Clint hesitated. He was a big boy, and he didn’t need to be cuddled like a baby. But Steve’s arms did look awful warm, and he was cold, and there was just enough space in the big chair for him too. He brought his blanket and his stuffed puppy with him, keeping his eyes on the floor as he toddled over and slowly sat down on Steve’s knee. He bit his lip to keep from squeaking in surprise when Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and easily lifted him, pulling back and closer to the curve of Steve’s body.

It was… surprisingly comfortable. And nice. And warm. Clint’s eyes drooped and he cuddled in closer, pulling his blanket over him and his puppy. Steve started rubbing his head just like Tony had earlier, and it made him feel a lot better. He breathed out noisily and absently latched on to the right ear of his puppy. His daddy was forever telling him that the puppy’s ear wouldn’t last if he kept sucking on it when he was sleepy, but it was a familiar shape in his mouth that was comforting. He fell asleep cuddling it close.

Later, late enough that Clint’s internal clock told him it was night, he felt himself being picked up. He didn’t panic, because he could hear Tony whimpering, and then the sound of Steve’s voice shushing them both. They were carried into the bedroom. Steve set them both down on the bed and laid out the changing pad, some diaper cream and powder and a new diaper for Tony. Clint watched the quiet process through half-lidded eyes, because Tony was either too sleepy or too sick to put up much of a fuss.

Then Steve turned to _him_ and, after lifting his legs and sliding the changing pad underneath his body, stripped off his pull-up. It was wet, though Clint had no idea when that had happened. He was too dumbstruck to protest this extraordinary turn of events, mouth hanging open a little as Steve cleaned him up with some baby wipes and then tugged a new pull-up up his legs and over his hips. It was over and done before Clint had the chance to decide whether he was going to be embarrassed about it. He looked down at the fresh pull-up as Steve whisked the changing pad away and wasn’t sure how to feel.

“I’m a big boy,” he said, but it was almost a question.

“I know you are,” Steve whispered, smiling at him. 

“I can do it myself.”

Steve shrugged. “Sometimes it’s nice to get a little help, right? Stay there and watch Tony for me, please. I’ll be right back.” He went into the bathroom.

Clint kept looking at the pull-up. Phil had changed him the handful of times he wore diapers, but most of the time Clint treated pull-ups like underwear and did it himself when he went to the bathroom. It was just easier for everyone that way, even though Phil had never once let on that he minded changing him. Steve, though. He did it automatically, like it was no big deal, and it probably wasn’t considering it was a regular part of his and Tony’s age play. 

He looked over at Tony, studying the rise and fall of Tony’s chest. Tony was such a private person in some ways; he didn’t like being vulnerable or intimate in any way that left him open to potentially being hurt. Yet he had trusted Steve with this to the point that it had become normal. Maybe even, though Clint hesitated to use the word, natural. Despite that, Tony still felt the same way that Clint did sometimes: that what they wanted - _needed_ was weird and wrong and shameful. 

Because Tony didn’t think he deserved anything that made him happy, much less something that most people would think was bizarre. And that kind of attitude made it hard for him to understand that Steve might get something from this, too. That it wasn’t just a huge concession on Steve’s part, and even if it was, it was still one that Steve was more than willing to make for someone that he loved.

Maybe the problem wasn’t with what they were doing, but with Clint and Tony and the way that they looked at the world.

All the thinking he was doing made his head hurt worse. Clint rolled over onto his side and pulled his legs up to his chest. Steve came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, turned the lights off and crawled into the middle of the bed. He moved some pillows around until they were supporting him, then leaned back and pulled Clint and Tony against him. Being able to prop his head up some on Steve’s chest helped. Clint listened to the sound of his heartbeat and watched the glow of the reactor light until he fell asleep.

A hand in his hair woke him up. At first he thought it was Steve, but the hand wasn’t big enough. Clint pried his eyes open and looked up to see that his daddy was leaning over him, smiling. He immediately raised his arms for a hug, which Phil happily granted. His body was solid and warm beneath Clint’s hands, and he cuddled closer and not so subtly wiped his running nose on the shoulder of Phil’s uniform. He didn’t like it when his daddy came to see him still dressed in SHIELD issued clothing that was meant for ops.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asked. He wasn’t speaking quietly, and Clint realized that Steve and Tony were gone. It was very rare for him to sleep so deep that people could enter or leave a room without his notice. He wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that it had happened more than once in a couple of days.

“I’m okay,” he said, coughing a little. “Daddy, I didn’t know you’d be back so soon. I should’ve just waited.” He frowned a little. He’d thought that the op would last at least another four to five days, if not longer. He could’ve saved Steve and Tony the trouble.

Phil just shook his head and pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead. “I know what you're thinking. You remember when Tony came to us the first time, and I called Steve and he came home really fast?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s what daddies do when their little boys are sick.”

“But Daddy –” Clint started, horrified, only to have Phil gently shush him.

“Don’t sqawk, little bird, it’s fine. We were already starting to wrap up the op. It was a total bust.” Phil sounded a little exasperated over what he clearly thought had been a waste of time and resources. “I'm glad Steve called me, because I know you wouldn't have." He tapped Clint on the nose. "Tasha and I just left a couple days ahead of everyone else. It was for the best, anyway. She was starting to get that look that means she’s contemplating using live targets for knife practice.”

Clint giggled at the thought of how scared the big bad SHIELD agents must have been of the Black Widow, but sobered quickly. “I’m still sorry you had to come back early.”

“I’m not,” Phil said frankly. “I’d much rather be here with you.” He kissed Clint’s forehead again, lingering. “At least you’re not running much of a fever. Do you want to get up, or sleep some more?”

“Will you lay down with me?” Clint asked quietly.

By way of answer, Phil pulled the sheets back and stood up. He made a face when he discovered the mess on his shoulder, but he didn't say anything: he just stripped off the bullet-proof uniform. Underneath he was wearing a simple t-shirt and boxers. He laid down next to Clint, pulling him into his arms. Clint snuggled up gladly, discovering that his head didn’t hurt nearly as badly when his daddy was there to cuddle with him. 

"Tell me a story, Daddy," he mumbled.

Phil was a great storyteller, able to remember all of the details long after most people would've gotten mixed up or started repeating themselves. Clint closed his eyes and listened peacefully as Phil spun out a rich story about a little monkey that regularly went for walks in the jungle on his own, only one day he saved the life of a big purple bird and, as a thank you, ended up being invited on the trip of a lifetime. It was the kind of story that only his daddy could tell.

When it was over - probably more because more and more sentences had been punctuated by coughs, not because Phil couldn't think of anything else to add - his daddy made him get up. Clint grumbled a little but obeyed, sitting up on the edge of the bed, leaning against Phil and rubbing sleepily at his eyes. He coughed a couple more times, then sniffed. His head didn't hurt as bad as it had last night. More like it could hurt, if he did too much.

"Where's Uncle Steve and Tony?" he asked.

"Last I saw, Steve was making breakfast one-handed," Phil said, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. Clint smiled just a little. He'd never seen Tony sick when he was a baby, but it made sense. Adult Tony usually tried to hide when he was hurt or ill, and when hauled out in the open by Steve, Pepper or Bruce, became withdrawn but clingy. Bruce always said that when Tony got quiet, that's when you knew it was serious.

Right then, he could relate. He butted his head lazily against Phil's shoulder. "I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat something, little bird."

"Don't wanna."

"I'm not asking," Phil replied, sneakily checking Clint's pull-up. Or at least he was pretending that he was trying to be sneaky about it - really, if he hadn't wanted Clint to know that he was doing it, Clint wouldn't. At any other time Clint would've pulled away, embarrassed and flustered, but now he sat quiet and let it happen. He was wet, he could feel it.

"Do you want help?" 

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah."

He could sense his daddy's surprise, but Phil didn't ask and Clint didn't offer. He let Phil help him up and they walked together into the bathroom. Clint stood placidly, leaning against the counter, and kept his eyes closed as Phil took off his pull-up and, after a split second pause, cleaned him up. It wasn't as weird now that it was his daddy touching him, but it was just as comforting as when Steve had changed him. It was kind of nice to be taken care of, even if he could've done it himself.

His daddy wrapped an arm around Clint's shoulders as they left the bathroom and went to the kitchen. Steve was standing in front of the counter, humming softly, left arm and hand supporting Tony on his hip while he poked at a pan of scrambled eggs with his right hand. There was another cup of that gross tea sitting at Clint's place, along with another couple of cold pills and a sippy cup of orange juice. A cup of coffee waited for Phil. At the end of the table was a half empty bottle of orange juice.

They sat down and Phil glanced at the bottle. "Do you want me to finish giving him his bottle?"

Steve shot him a relieved, if somewhat frazzled, smile. "Would you? Thanks, Phil." He set the spatula down and walked over, gently but firmly prying Tony's arms off his neck and plunking him down in Phil's lap. Tony pouted, eyes glassy and accusing as his gaze followed Steve, though he accepted the bottle when Phil curled an arm around his back to hold him up and offered it to him.

Deliberately ignoring the tea, Clint took the pills and washed them down with orange juice. Steve turned and gave him a look. It was Clint's turn to pout as he eyed the unappetizing tea.

"Drink your tea, Clint," Phil said.

"But it tastes bad," Clint whined.

"It will make you feel better. Drink it," came the stern, no-nonsense response that meant pushing the issue would be a bad idea. Clint didn't exactly relish the idea of losing all television privileges and then having to drink the stupid tea anyway.

Steve was visibly trying not to laugh. Clint scowled at them both and picked up the tea, sulkily starting to drink. Maybe it wasn't better when his daddy was around. At least with Steve, he'd gotten a milkshake afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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